Sally The Homicidal Maniac
by itsallstupid
Summary: Remember Johnny C? His story is over. But there's another side. He had a little sister. Her name was Sally, and this is her story.


"You're doing the right thing, Sally."

"I don't know, Harmony. It feels wrong.."

"No, no. It's perfectly fine."

"If you say so…"

I stood up and looked over my latest kill, my new, and now dead, foster mother Clarissa Wilson. Her husband laid in the corner, and the two hateful children were almost out the door. I dropped the metal pipe onto the floor and sat down. "Whew. I'm really tired. I wonder if brother will come around this time." I sighed and reached for the phone, making the best terrified voice I could make. "911, what's your emergency?" the dispatcher was a woman, possibly the one who answered the last time. "M…m…my family just got massacred! Help me! I'm scared!" I pretended to be a whiny baby when I was calling 911. It adds more affect.

"Little girl, what's your name?" she asked, being as calm as she could. Police dispatchers are shit. They have to keep calm and all that crap, but I bet that they're really terrified on the other end of that line. "S…Sally. Sally C." I whimpered, rolling my eyes, thinking, _'Police dispatchers really are __**too **__stupid.' _"Ok, Sally. I need to know your address." the dispatcher continued, in the calmest voice she could probably manage. "1650 Mockingbird Avenue…"

Just in case you're wondering, even if you weren't, my name is Sally C, but you can call me Lly, and yes, I just murdered my foster family. I am fifteen years old, and I miss my brother. He ran away from home when I was 5, right after we watched someone kill our parents. His name is Johnny. He's probably 19 or 20 now. In his early twenties is my guess. I bet he doesn't even remember me. If he saw me, he wouldn't recognize me or anything. We wouldn't share a hug, or cry in each others arms, or any of that stupid fuck shit. God, I don't even want to know what he looks like now. Probably crazy. Oh yeah. Back to the story. As soon as I got off that phone, I took off my bloody clothes and changed into new ones. I put the bloody ones in the washing machine, and took that metal pipe covered in their blood and put it in the middle of the room.

Now, I know what your probably thinking. '_What the hell? Does she __**WANT **__to get caught?' _Well, yes and no. You see, every time I kill my foster family and call the police over, THEY NEVER SUSPECT ME. I don't exactly know why, but they never do… Besides, every time I kill someone, I hope my brother sees the news. I hope that just somewhere in his mind, he realizes, "THAT'S SALLY!", but he never does. So I'm just waiting for that day he recognizes me.

The police eventually arrived and looked around. "Whoa, this was a massacre.." I heard one say. _'Pfft, I've done much worse,' _I thought, and held in my laughter. I looked around, pretending to be nervous, and noticed Sheriff Cherriwood wasn't there. "Excuse me..m..mister? W..where's…Mr…Ch…Cherriwood?" I stammered, and squeezed my knuckles hard. "Cherry? Oh, he took off sick today. Sorry, kid." the deputy told me, and I turned around. "Ok…where will I go now?" Melody suddenly appeared in front of me. "Probably somewhere worse. It would be better to kill yourself now-" She was about to explain how much worse it could be, but Harmony bumped her out of the way. "NO! DON'T LISTEN TO HER! YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR BROTHER AGAIN, DON'T YOU? KILL! KILL!" she practically screamed in my face, telling me to 'keep on killing'. I sighed, bored because had heard this rant millions of times. You're probably wondering who Harmony and Melody are, and where they came from. Well, they're kind of…me. I guess they're two parts of my conscience and they're pretty fucked up. Harmony wants me to keep killing, while Melody wants me to kill myself. Melody is sad a lot, so she wants to see someone even sadder than her die. I tuned Harmony's screaming and Melody's quiet sobbing out, and walked outside to see Mr. Manson step out of his Mustang, cursing as usual.

Mr. Manson is my social worker. Obviously, he hates his job. He's in his late 30's, already going bald, and weighs about 200 pounds. He stumbled towards me, dropping papers everywhere. "Sally dear! How nice to see you again! SHIT! It's a shame how your parents are dead. Again. FFFFFUCK! Sorry, dear." He yelled as he got to me. I sighed, and felt the "tears" well up in my eyes. "Mr. Manson! What's going to happen to me?" I sobbed, hugging him. Like always, he smelled like cigars and vodka. Mr. Manson patted my head, grabbed it, and pulled me away from him. "No hugging right now, dear. I have to take you to your new parents!" I felt my eyes fly open, and I stared at him. "You…already found somebody else..?" He chuckled, and stopped as he saw the looks he was getting. "Why of course! I've got a list ready, just in case. Now, we'll let the police handle everything with your items, but get in the car! I'll show you your new house now, if you like." I raised an eyebrow, and turned back to my old, trashy house. I really hope it's going to be better than last time. Or I'll kill someone.


End file.
